


among the roses red

by DrowningInStarlight



Category: Campaign (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Families of Choice, Fluff, Getting Together, Multi, vaguely merlin style royalty au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28797753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningInStarlight/pseuds/DrowningInStarlight
Summary: When Margaret gets home, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince of Speir is lounging in her armchair, making toast over the hearthfire.Or, a royalty au.
Relationships: Dref & Everyone, Hildred Gastaur/Gable/Travis Matagot/Margaret, Jonnit & Everyone, Jonnit Kessler & Dref Wormwood
Comments: 14
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> can't believe this is the first tag in the gable/hildred/travis/margaret tag!!! 
> 
> content warning throughout for discussions of travis's shitty parents, but nothing in depth. 
> 
> title from the ballad of tam lin.

When Margaret gets home, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince of Speir is lounging in her armchair, making toast over the hearthfire. 

“Afternoon, Mr Matagot,” she says, putting her bag down by the door and bending down to take her boots off. It’s raining outside, and it’s a bit of a walk back from her latest client’s home on the outskirts of the village. She’s soaked. “What do you want?” 

“Am I not allowed to want to spend time with my dear love?” Travis says, idly gesturing at the second plate of toast that’s been set up on the mantelpiece. She takes a piece and puts it in her mouth to hold as she hangs her cloak up next to the fireplace. Never let it be said Black Lilies aren’t practical, she thinks.

Once she’s finished the toast, she turns to examine him. His coat is draped over the table, his circlet dropped carelessly on top of it, and he’s still wearing his royal finery. That means he probably got bored at some important meeting or something. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

But then, she definitely hadn’t had any bread in the house, which means Travis had probably stolen it from the castle kitchen on his way down. She knows he’ll leave the rest of the loaf, which means that she won’t have to go out again in the rain. 

She’ll admit, it’s not without its advantages, having Travis fond of you. 

He pulls an innocent face under her gaze, and she shakes her head with a smile. She heads across the room towards the bedroom so she can get changed. Her cottage isn’t big, so it’s easy to call back to Travis. 

“I’m flattered, of course,” she says, quickly unlacing her dress, stepping out of it, and digging around in the chest of clothes at the foot of her bed. “But it’s a walk down here from the castle, and the weather is… less than ideal today. What’s going on?” 

“Ugh, just about anything’s more interesting than being stuck up there, even the rain,” Travis says, moving over to lean against the doorframe. “Everyone’s in town for Aur Piora and the coronation, and they all want to _talk._ About _birds._ I don’t care about _birds.”_

There’s something more than that, Margaret thinks. But she doesn’t push him. 

“Oh, that’s right,” she says, choosing a new dress, softer and older, more comfortable for a cosy evening. Then, as another layer of realisation hits: “Oh, that’s _right._ Aur Piora. Hildred Gastaur’s back at the castle.” She steps into the dress and turns her back to Travis. 

“She is,” Travis confirms, stepping forward to tie her laces up for her. She doesn’t actually need him too, but it’s fun to watch the way he always will. 

Once he’s done, she turns and pokes him lightly in the chest. “Are you moping because Gable’s busy training for the joust?” 

Travis rolls his eyes. “No. I’m _annoyed_ because they left me to talk to people about _birds.”_

Margaret laughs. “Poor little you. Abandoned, with nothing but an entire court to keep you company. How’s Jonnit?” 

“He’s fine,” Travis says. “I left him in the kitchens.” 

“You convinced him to leave too?” she says. “You’re a terrible influence.” 

“That’s why you like me,” Travis says, hands in his pockets. 

“That’s why I _love_ you,” she corrects, and kisses him on the cheek as she passes. He coughs a little as he follows her, but otherwise passes it off coolly. The prince has a reputation as something of a smooth talker, but Margaret has made flustering him into a fine art. Oh, he’s insufferable, but she loves him. And he is right. Royal business is boring and it sucks, and she can say that, because she’s taken pains to remain entirely separate from anything to do with governing the kingdom. 

Apart from, that is, being close friends with several high ranking members of the Court— Jonnit, official ward of the castle, Gable, captain of the Royal Guard. And then, of course, Travis…

Her Travis, who in two very short days won’t just be a prince anymore. He’ll be king. 

They keep this subtle, for both of their sakes. Magic is a complicated thing when it comes to politics, and Margaret makes no secret of being a witch. And gods know that Travis doesn’t need any more rumours floating around him— whispers of treason and divided loyalties and a strange and inexplicable connection to the forest already follow him like smoke. 

“As it happens,” Travis says, “There actually was something else I came here to talk to you about.” 

She settles into the armchair opposite him. “Oh? Nothing bad, I hope?” 

“No, no. Well— no. I came to invite you to the masquerade ball, tomorrow night. If you, you know. Wanted to come.” 

Subtle, but not invisible. Royal business is mind-numbing. Royal _parties,_ however...

He’s ill at ease, she can tell. She doesn’t need any magic to see it, so she puts her chin in her hand and gives him a playful look, trying to comfort him. “Hmm,” she says. “Will Gable be there?” 

Travis snorts, and she laughs at his expression. “Yes, they will,” he says. “And Hildred Gastaur, and Jonnit, and the whole clown brigade. Our clown brigade, that is, but there’ll also be nobles from all over because of Aur Piora and… you know. The coronation. You might get some work out of it.” 

“Well, I have always wanted to see this circus in full swing,” she says. “What better time than Aur Piora?” 

“Oh, the circus is always in full swing,” Travis says drily. “Trust me on that one.” 

— 

“Are you planning on staying the night, darling?” Margaret asks him later, as they’re curled up in her bed. This really is a much cosier end to the day than Margaret had been expecting. Travis is lovely and warm, and she has an arm around his bare shoulders. 

“Unfortunately, Gable’s expecting me,” he says.

“Ooh,” Margaret says, and Travis shakes his head. 

“Nothing exciting. It’s Gable, of course it wouldn’t be anything exciting.” He sounds resentful, but it isn’t a real jab at Gable. She knows this because she knows that Gable always stays with Travis when he changes and they have for as long as Margaret’s known the two of them. Gable’s a good bodyguard, of course, but it’s more than that. 

“Travis, you know you don’t have to do that with me,” she says. “In fact, I’d much rather you didn’t. I won’t tell Gable that you care about them.” 

Travis doesn’t admit a thing. Instead, he pushes himself up on one elbow to look at her. “What about you?” he asks, a curious look in his eyes. 

“Me?” 

“How do you feel about Gable?” 

“I like Gable very much,” she says, a little bemused. “But I know you aren’t upset about Gable and I, and I think you are upset about something.” 

“Hm,” he says, flopping back down onto the pillow. He stares up at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact. “May I tell you a secret?” he asks. 

“You may,” Margaret says. 

“I don’t want to be king,” he blurts, and suddenly everything makes a lot of sense.

“Oh, Travis.” 

“Why would I?” he says, gesturing at the air. “That was my father’s thing, back before the fire. And I don’t want to be… like him. The only good thing about being stuck here is— well. You. The others, I guess.”

“Thank you for telling me.” 

“What do you… think I should do?” 

“I think you know what I’m going to say, my dear. You should talk to Gable.” 

He groans dramatically, and she laughs. 

“It’s getting dark, I’ve gotta go,” he says, after a gentle moment passes. “See you tomorrow?” 

“See you tomorrow,” she confirms. 

— 

The rain trickles down the roof of the bird stables. Earlier, Gable cleared a space in the centre, pushing sacks of hay and old riding tackle to one side, and then Jonnit had chalked a rough circle on the earthy ground. Now, Jonnit’s perched up in the rafters, watching with delight as Hildred and Gable spar. 

Hildred’s sword is beautiful, and she’s grinning as she takes another lunge at Gable. She looks every inch the captain of an order of rogue knights that she is, unaffiliated with any kingdom, roaming the land and helping people in need. Strong and fast and so wildly, wildly alive. 

“Go Hildred!” Jonnit cheers from the rafters, and Gable pauses in their retaliation to look up at him. 

“Hey!” they say. “You’re supposed to be on my side.” 

Jonnit shrugs. “I’m on your side in the real thing. This is just practice!” 

Hildred rests their sword on the ground, and looks up to Jonnit with another bright smile. She loves doing this, and it shows in every movement she makes. “I gotcha,” she says. “But really, you should be cheering for Gable. Then maybe they’ll have a fighting chance this year.” 

“Hey!” Gable says again, feigning offense. “Just because you beat me last year—” 

“ — and the year before, and before—” Jonnit adds helpfully. 

“Traitor,” Gable says to him, and he laughs. “What was I saying—” 

Hildred is a champion. A star. Gable enjoys Aur Piora, but it’s their duty to take part to represent the kingdom on Travis’s behalf. Hildred is… something else. They’d kissed her before the very first Aur Piora, and had the gold resoundingly stolen from them mere hours later. She’d kissed them afterwards, leaning in close to whisper “Consolation prize.” Gable still hasn’t recovered their dignity or their composure.

“You were saying that Hildred beat you last year,” Jonnit says with a grin, changing his position perched on the rafter so he can swing his legs.

“Jonnit, you need to stop talking to Travis so much, you’re getting mean,” Gable grumbles. 

“I’m messing with you,” Jonnit says. “That is what you were saying, though.” 

“It is,” Hildred confirms with a nod. 

Gable shakes their head, and hefts their sword over their shoulder. Hildred looks at them with open appreciation, and they try very hard not to blush. 

“Another round?” she asks. 

Gable glances towards the open entrance of the stables. The summer evenings linger long, even in the rain, but dusk is starting to creep in at last. “Next time,” they say. “I’d better be heading back.” 

“I’ll go if you’re up for another,” Jonnit says, dropping down lightly from the rafters and reaching for the rack of training swords. Hildred looks delighted, and Gable leaves them to their bright laughter. They’re two of a kind, Hildred and Jonnit. Knights through and through. Gable is so painfully fond of both of them. 

— 

Margaret lives on one corner of the village square. It’s not quite dark, but the rain is still a persistent warm summer drizzle, turning everything reddish-grey. They walk arm in arm towards the middle of the square, under the statue of the old king. Travis very pointedly does not look at it. 

There’s no one out to see them. All the houses around have curtains drawn, windows lit golden, and the rain falls and covers their presence. For a moment, Margaret feels like they’re the only two people in the entire village. She leans up and kisses Travis, soft and sweet. 

“You’ve got this,” she tells him. 

_“You’ve_ got this,” he responds lightly. “They’re gonna take one look at you and forget all about me—” 

“—Wait,” Margaret interrupts sharply, pulling away from him. Every magic sense she possesses suddenly screams at her all at once— something’s _wrong._

“What?” Travis asks, but before she can say a word to him, there’s an awful cracking sound and she realises what’s happening in one terrible instant. 

The statue of the old king falls, and Margaret tackles Travis out of the way with barely a breath to spare. 

It hits the cobbles hard enough to shatter. Shards of the likeness of Travis’s late father scatter across the square. Margaret is horribly certain that if Travis had still been standing underneath it, he would be dead right now. They’re both breathing hard, and Margaret gets off him slowly, offering him a hand up. 

“What was _that,”_ he breathes. He goes over to look at the cracked base of the statue. “This looks like—” 

“Magic,” she agrees grimly. There’s a scorched crack in the stone, and Margaret recognises the signs. “Travis, I think someone might be trying to hurt you.” 

— 

The courtyard of the castle is draped with strings with lanterns, but they aren’t lit yet. That’ll happen tomorrow evening, for the masquerade. There are a few people milling about and talking, hunched against the rain. Gable considers ducking inside the castle doors and going upstairs that way, but decides against it at the last moment. 

For old time’s sake, they head towards the castle gate. They pause in the shadows for a moment as a contingent of the visiting nobles appear, coming up from the village. They’re red feathers, judging by their coats, and they’re laughing nastily. Gable wrinkles their nose at them, because they’re hidden and it won’t cause a diplomatic incident. The red feathers are notoriously touchy. Gable suspects that’s because Dref’s brother is in charge of the visiting unit, but he’s powerless to touch Dref without starting a war no one can afford. 

As soon as the coast is clear, they slip out of the gate and begin to walk the outside of the castle walls. The dusk is heavier out here, the grass heavy with the rain. The edges of the forest are dark and gloomy, close to the castle walls on this side. 

They follow the wall around until they reach the base of the tallest tower. There are big, old magnolias growing all across the old stonework, large white flowers blooming, the scent heavy in the damp air. It’s easy for Gable to scale up it— they’ve done it so many times before they don’t even need to think about it, even in the rain.

When they peek their head over Travis’s windowsill, the window is already open. He’s sitting near to the table, sideways on the old wooden chair. He looks damp, like he’s just been out in the rain too. He’s missing his circlet, and his hair is down. 

He gives them an unimpressed look as they climb in and dust themself off. 

“You know you don’t need to do that anymore,” he says. “No one cares if you come into my quarters. No one would dare to care.” 

“Old habits,” Gable says vaguely. There’s a strange edge in the air tonight, making them feel nostalgic and like a wild thing caged all at once. “There’s a lot of people around at the moment. You ready to go?” 

“Yes,” he says, “But down the stairs, you animal.” 

_“You_ animal,” Gable retorts. 

Travis grins smugly. “Oh, give it, what, ten minutes.” 

“I hate you.” 

They follow Travis down the spiral staircase towards the ground floor, and he’s right that they don’t need to hide like they used to anymore, but it still feels weird to walk right past everyone else going about their business. No one gives them a second look, but Gable can’t shake the paranoia. 

They think it’s just them— they’re not captain of the royal guard for nothing— but Travis is jumpy too. He keeps staring for a moment too long into the shadows as they pass through the courtyard. 

“What?” they ask, as they walk side by side towards the treeline. They glance behind them at the castle gate, but no one’s looking. 

“If I tell you, you’ll just get weird,” Travis says, as they duck into the edges of the forest. They’re out of sight of the castle here, the forest is dark and mossy and damp with summer rain. Gable is uneasy here, the way they always are. This is no longer the kingdom they’ve lived in since they were little. This is the Matriarch’s domain. 

“Well, now I definitely will get weird,” they say in exasperation. “So just fucking tell me.” 

Travis holds up a finger. “If you’ll excuse me one moment.” 

“You’re insufferable,” they say, and then they wait for the sound of bones breaking and Travis’s gritted sound of pain. They’re used to it, by this point. They both are. 

Once the sun has finally dropped all the way behind the horizon, there’s a snowy white coyote sitting on the damp ground before them. 

“So? What’s your problem?” they ask. 

“Hm.” Travis tilts his head, looking at them. “Walk with me. You seem on edge.” 

“Yeah, because something’s wrong and you won’t tell me what!” Gable snaps, but they follow him further down the forest path anyway. 

Being in the woods with Travis is weird. The forest lets him pass, making paths where Gable swears there was just impenetrable brush moments before. For some reason, it lets Gable pass too. 

They walk in silence for a few moments, before something occurs to Gable suddenly. This is familiar. The two of them haven’t walked into the woods together like for a long time, not beyond the outskirts, but they used to. When Travis’s parents were still the king and queen, when Sovereign was the guard captain and Gable was just a squire, back before the fire. 

The two of them would only come out here for one reason, one that seems so tiny and desperate, now that the castle is theirs. 

They’d come out here to _talk._

“Travis,” they say, pausing in the middle of a little glade. “Are you making sure we’re out of earshot of the castle?” 

He gives them a wry look. “That obvious?” 

“Only to me, I think.” 

“I went to see Margaret today,” he says. “I invited her to the masquerade tomorrow, by the way.” 

“Good,” Gable says. “That’s good.” They shuffle awkwardly. “Did she, uh—” 

“Yes, she asked after you,” Travis says, rolling his eyes. “Do you want to know the deal or not?” 

“Go on,” Gable says. 

“Someone used magic to make the statue of my father in the village square fall on me,” Travis says, with a carefully studied casualness. “If Margaret hadn’t sensed something was wrong, it would have killed me, probably.” 

“Oh,” Gable says slowly. “It was… intentional?” 

“Margaret certainly thinks so.” 

“Margaret knows what she’s talking about,” they say, worriedly. They begin to pace the glade, thinking aloud. “It could have been anyone. The Broker’s contingent from Burza Nyth, Adrienne and the Nordia lot, the Red Feathers— This isn’t good, Travis.” 

Travis watches them as they pace, tail curled around his paws. “No shit,” he says. “This is my life we’re talking about. I’d quite like to keep it.” 

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” they say absently. “Because _someone_ needs to protect your stupid little life.” 

They don’t notice the way he looks at them at that. Something close to hurt, and something even closer to sadness. 

“Let’s go,” he says suddenly. Gable glances up at him. 

“Go where?” 

“I don’t know, Gable,” he snaps. 

“What’s wrong with you suddenly?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s something to do with the people _trying to kill me.”_

“Fine!” Gable says. “Fine. Let’s go.” 

As night falls, they melt into the darkness, and for a brief moment the politics of court are forgotten and they’re just two more wild creatures in the deep woods.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are discussed.

The rain passes in the night, and by the time Travis and Gable emerge from the woods, fully human, the dawn sky is clear and fresh. 

It’s cold enough that their breathing billows white into the morning air. They walk up from the woods in silence, but it’s a little less tense now. Gable, despite everything, feels better. Travis has a thoughtful look, and for once he isn’t jabbing at them for their attention. The tournament is today, the masquerade is tonight, and the coronation the day after. There are official welcome meetings to be had, formalities to be observed. 

“Travis,” Gable says, as they cross the courtyard. 

“Mm?” 

“Are you… okay?” 

They slip up the back stairs, the same way they’d come out. It takes Travis a long time to respond, and when he does, he sounds a little distant. “Fine, why do you ask?” 

“I don’t know,” Gable says helplessly. “Just. Be watchful. If there’s someone trying to kill you…” 

“That’s your job, remember?” he says, as they reach the landing with Travis’s rooms on it. 

“Being watchful or trying to kill you?” 

Travis just smirks at them. “See you at breakfast.” 

— 

Margaret walks the cobbled road to up to the castle with determination and a paper bag of sweet pastries from the village bakery. The first week of the month means it’s time to visit Dref, and their normal work meeting followed by breakfasting together seems especially urgent this month, after what had happened to Travis last night.

She walks through the bustling courtyard and to the base of one of the towers. The little wooden door is closed, so she knocks on it lightly. 

“C— come in,” Dref’s voice comes from inside. “It’s not l— locked.” 

She lets herself in and closes it neatly behind her. “Good morning, Doctor Wormwood!” she says brightly. 

He’s sitting at his big old desk, the little office stacked high with papers and potions alike, but he stands formally when she enters, and gives her a little bow. “M— mistress Lily,” he says. “H— how goes things?” 

She tilts her hand back and forth thoughtfully. “Up and down. I’ll get into it in a moment, but first, I brought pastries.” She offers them to him. 

Dref Wormwood is a very, very good doctor, but he’s young, barely an adult, and she knows he doesn’t take care of himself as much as he should. So she brings him sweet things sometimes when she visits, almond flavoured— the ones he’d once confessed was his favourite. In return, he gives her scrolls from distant lands that he thinks she’ll like, or little trinkets made from bones and stones. 

He takes the paper bag with a little smile. They exchange gifts, but their relationship isn’t just transactional. They’re colleagues, yes, but more than that, they’re friends. On the surface, their jobs sound very different, sex and pain, health and death, but people are never as simple as that. It’s easier for Margaret to ease people’s mental pain if their physical pains can be alleviated. There are some injuries that cannot be cured by Dref’s medicines alone. The two of them work better together. 

The other thing that bonded them was the fact they’re both newcomers to the castle, relatively. Jonnit grew up in the farms around the castle, Hildred has been travelling the kingdoms for years now, Travis and Gable grew up together in the court itself, but Margaret only settled here recently, and Dref just the same. 

Well, not quite the same. Margaret had settled here because she wanted a change from plying her trade on the move, but Dref… his situation had been a little more complicated. He’d been on the run from his family, and the Red Feathers, and had come to the castle seeking asylum. He’d got Travis alone, and Margaret doesn’t know what they discussed, but after they’d spoken, Travis had granted him protection without a word. He’s been the castle doctor ever since, and the Youngbloods can’t touch him. That’s what Margaret’s gleaned, anyway. She knows better than to ask either of them, even though they’d probably tell her. Some things are private. 

“Thank you, Margaret,” Dref says, as he sits back down at the desk and clears a space for her to perch up on it, like she always ends up doing. He always offers her the second chair, but she prefers the casualness of sitting on the desk. “An— any work m— matters, before you tell me the g— goss, as it were?” 

She takes the notebook out of her skirt and flips through it quickly. “Nothing much,” she muses. “This one, we’re trying them on some hart root. I do believe that’ll help them no end. Would you mind adding it to your order from the teashop, Doctor? I sent mine off last week.”

“T— that's no problem,” Dref says, making a note in his own papers. “I have one f— for you, a gentleman st— struggling with flashbacks. But apart from th— that, it’s been a quiet m— month.” 

“Thank the Lumins,” Margaret says. “Then let me tell you about what happened to Travis and I last night.” 

“Tr— Travis?” 

She grimaces. “Yes. Unfortunately, this is less fun gossip, and more a potential diplomatic crisis. Dref, someone tried to kill Travis last night.”

“Oh, fuck,” Dref says, and Margaret knows that he knows, better than a lot of people, the ramifications of that. Spier isn’t a large kingdom, but it’s a haven for magic folk and always has been. After all, the Forest Queen’s domain lies within its borders. The kingdom has always been coveted by its neighbours, and Travis’s upcoming coronation puts them in a delicate, transitional period. 

“The only reason that he’s still alive right now is because I walked him to the village square.” She doesn’t mean to sound shaken, but Dref clearly intuits something from her, because he tentatively takes her hand and squeezes it. She squeezes back, covering their joined hands with her other hand. “Whoever it was, they knew he was at mine.” 

Dref looks awkward. “I understand you do not want to br— broadcast your relationship,” he says, “But Travis is not a subtle man. It is not difficult to work out where he is, that does not narrow down the suspects.” 

Margaret laughs, despite herself. “You’re right,” she says. “That’s very true.” 

“Margaret, wh— who do you think it could be?” 

“I think…” she trails off. “I certainly have an idea.”

Dref nods grimly. “I think we are of the same mind.” 

“The Red Feathers,” Margaret says. “It has to be them. But we can’t— the situation is already so precarious there. Any direct accusation would be as good as declaring war, with or without proof.” 

“There’s the tournament today, the m— masquerade this evening, and then c— coronation is tomorrow,” Dref says. “The Feathers are unlikely to be willing to ex— extend their stay further than the bare minimum, if I know my br— brother. And I do.” 

“So we’ve just got to keep Travis safe today, and tomorrow,” Margaret says, biting her lip thoughtfully. “He isn’t going to like it, but I think we can manage that much.” 

Dref shakes his head wonderingly. “You understand, Travis is my friend,” he says, “But I d— do not know how you d— deal with him.” 

Margaret beams at him. “Dref, Lumins help me, I’m going to marry that man if it’s the last thing I do.” 

“And I will attend your wedding to gift you w— wax with which to st— stopper your ears,” Dref says solemnly, and Margaret laughs.

“What would I do without you?” she says, slipping down from the desk. “What would this castle do without you?” 

“Suffer a lot more from common ills,” Dref says, gesturing at the walls of ingredients and medicines. “Take care, Margaret. Of the others, but al— also yourself.” 

“You too, Dref. You too.” 

They’re quiet for a moment, then Margaret remembers something and reaches into her skirts again. “Would you make sure this gets back to Travis?” she asks, passing Dref Travis’s crown, an elegant metal circlet patterned with leaves. “He left it at mine last night.” 

“He l— left his cr— crown with you?” Dref asks. 

“Yes,” Margaret says, with a sigh. “It’s… It isn’t my secret to share, but...” 

“W— would,” Dref looks nervous. “Would you like a h— hug?” 

“Only if you would like to give one,” Margaret promises. 

“I th— think I would,” Dref says, and they hug, and Margaret closes her eyes and rests her head against Dref’s shoulder. 

— 

Hildred stays at a lot of castles in her travels with her order, but she has to admit that this one is one of her favourites. She could be biased, of course, but still— it’s nice. The people are funny and honest and rough around the edges, just like she is, and she can trust that her birds will be taken care of properly. She enjoys getting to see the way that Jonnit’s little more grown up every time she passes back through, and then, of course, there’s Gable. 

Gable, tall and awkward and affectionate Gable, who had run down to the castle gates to meet her as she’d ridden up. They’d smiled at her, nervous and genuine, and helped her take care of Victory and the rest of the birds. Then they’d hovered, and she’d stepped back, tilted her head at them and said “Kiss me?” 

They hadn’t hesitated. They’d picked her up, swept her off her feet, and they’d stayed there in the stables, kissing for a long time. 

She smiles thinking about it as she moves through the dining hall. It’s early, she’s always been an early riser, and there are only small clusters of people looking sleepy around the food tables. She grabs a plateful and surveys the hall. Then she narrows her eyes. There’s someone sitting at the corner table who she recognises. It’s Prince Matagot, crownless and looking somewhere between exhilarated and exhausted. He’s sitting alone, eating half heartedly but mainly surveying the cards he has spread out on the table all around him. Hildred makes a beeline over. 

He looks up as she approaches, and gestures to the chair opposite him. “Sir Gastaur,” he greets. 

“Your highness,” she responds, with a raised eyebrow. “What’s all this?” 

He gestures to the arrayed cards. “Asking some… pressing questions. Care to pull a card?” 

She puts her plate down to one side, and shrugs. “Sure.” 

She holds out a hand questioningly, and he gestures permission. She pulls a card from the edge of the spread, and turns it. 

“The Audience,” she says. 

“Hm,” he says. “The tournament is later. That tracks.” He fiddles with the edge of another card, then turns it reluctantly, not looking at it. 

“Well?” Hildred asks. “What is it?” 

Travis passes it to her without a word. “It’s the Island,” he says, still not looking. 

“It is,” she confirms. Hildred has never really been into Luminaries, palm reading is more her speed, but even she knows what the Island symbolises. Disaster.

“It’s been the Island all morning,” he says lightly. 

“Travis, are you okay?” She coughs. “Uh, Prince, I mean.” 

He waves a dismissive hand at her blunder. She’s never been good at all this courtly finery. Maybe that’s why she likes Gable so much. This is, she has to admit, probably the longest conversation she’s ever had with Travis. He’s… difficult. That doesn’t mean that Hildred dislikes him— in fact, she’s built her order of knights out of people who are spiky and fiery and rebellious— but it does make it a little difficult to know where they stand with each other.

It’s also made more complicated by her and Gable’s feelings for each other. It’s not that Travis is jealous, he also has his own thing going on with the pretty witch from the village, Margaret, but Hildred knows that Gable and Travis both are insecure about their relationship with each other, if the screaming arguments are anything to go by. Travis isn’t jealous, but he is a little protective.

“I don’t know why people keep asking me that today,” he says, and then he looks at her, making sure he has her attention. He’s a performer, through and through. Hildred finds it kind of funny. “Apart from the assassination attempt, I’m fine.” 

Hildred wasn’t going to play into his dramatics, but then Jonnit’s voice comes from behind her. “Assassination attempt?” he says, staring wide eyed at Travis and moving to sit at his right hand, a plate piled high with breakfast balanced in his hands, and she can’t help but smile. 

“You know it,” Travis says, with far too much relish for someone discussing the possibility of his own death. 

“What happened?” Jonnit breathes. “Does Gable know? Wait— Gable said you were visiting Margaret! Is Margaret alright?” 

“Oh, very nice that you ask about Margaret who isn’t even here before you ask about me, who _is,”_ Travis says, gathering up his cards. 

Jonnit rolls his eyes. “Are you okay, Travis?” he says with deep sarcasm. 

“I’m fine, thank you for asking!” he says. “And Margaret is too. I wouldn’t be here if Margaret wasn’t okay.” 

“Aw,” Jonnit says. 

“Yes, well,” Travis says, “Moving on.” 

“Does Gable know?” Hildred asks. 

“They do, and they aren’t happy about it,” he says. “And I believe Margaret was planning on telling Dreffy-boy. But apart from that, you two are the only ones who know, and I think it would be wise to keep it that way.” 

“Yeah,” Jonnit says, looking serious. “We’ve gotta find out who it is, and stop them before it’s too late, so you can not die before being crowned and all that.”

Travis looks uncomfortable for just a moment, a brief flash of a mask slip that Hildred only notices because she was watching him. She notes it, but doesn’t question any further because just then Gable enters the dining hall. Jonnit waves them over enthusiastically. 

They join them at their table without getting any food. They look like Travis, fresh but a little frazzled, and they sit down next to Hildred. 

“I’ve told them,” Travis says, anticipating their question and not greeting them in any other way. 

“Good,” Gable replies, and tosses him his crown over the table, which he catches with a fumble. “Dref caught me in the hallway, told me to give you this.” 

Travis takes the circlet, puts it on and peers over Gable’s shoulder. “Is he here? I’d love to… thank him for returning my crown to me.” 

“Dref? No. You know he hates crowds. You’ll have to bully him another day,” they say disapprovingly. “But he said he’ll help us.” 

“Help us? What do we need to do?” Jonnit asks. He leans forwards and puts his chin in his hands. “What’s the plan, Gable?” 

“I don’t— I’m not sure,” Gable says, looking a little put on the spot. 

“Let me guess,” Travis drawls. “Your plan was to follow me around and body check anyone who gives me a weird look.” 

Gable bristles but doesn’t _actually_ disagree. 

“Being wary is definitely a good first step,” Hildred says briskly, and everyone looks at her. “I’ve run protection jobs before,” she explains. “And delicate ones, like this one. We’ll keep our own knowledge quiet, but be wary, and gather information.” 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Gable says, and Hildred can see the anxiety in their face. 

“I’ve got you,” she says softly, and Gable tentatively reaches out to take her hand under the table. They go visibly red, and Travis smirks at them. Jonnit is still making short work of his breakfast, and after a moment, Travis pushes his unfinished plate over towards him as well. 

“Don’t drown in it,” Travis says. 

Jonnit gives him a look. “We’ve got the official welcome meeting in twenty minutes and I want to have eaten before that.” 

“We do, that’s right,” Travis says, but Jonnit narrows his eyes at him sharply. 

“You’d forgotten,” he accuses. 

“Well, not so much _forgotten_ as temporarily failed to recall—” 

Jonnit ignores him, and instead turns to Gable, takes in their stricken face signalling the fact they also forgot, and goes “The two of you are a mess.” 

Hildred laughs. “Jonnit, if you ever want to leave this place and come travelling with my order, this is a standing invitation.” 

Jonnit smiles at her. “Thank you, but this is my family.” 

“Just keep it in mind,” she says, getting up and kissing Gable on the cheek. “I’ll see you guys at the joust. Good luck with your meeting! Don’t die before the tournament, Matagot, I’m looking forward to it.” 

“For you, Gastaur, I’ll try not to.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr as [drowninginstarlights!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/drowninginstarlights)


End file.
